Gratitude and Gourmet Coffee
by starry19
Summary: Tag to Skinny Dipper - "Is everything all right?" she asked, already turning on her heel. There was another pregnant pause. "There's a dead man in my lab," he told her."


**AN:** My very first Forever fic. I doubt it will be my last.

For Christina, who harassed me into doing this. I mean that in the best way possible, of course!

PS: reviews make me smile. Especially since this is my first foray into writing for a new fandom.

**Gratitude and Gourmet Coffee**

She had barely gotten home when her phone rang.

Glancing at the number, she frowned. It was Henry. Or Abe, she supposed, though the older man was slightly more inclined to use a cell phone than his roommate.

"Hello?" she answered, tossing her keys onto the small table by the door.

She heard heavy breathing for a beat. Then, "Jo?"

Her pulse kicked up a notch. There was something wrong with his voice."Henry?"

"You need to...that is, I think you should...come over. Please. Now." She had never heard him stutter so much in a single sentence.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, already turning on her heel.

There was another pregnant pause. "There's a dead man in my lab," he told her, sounding slightly more composed now.

She froze, halfway down the hall. "What? What the hell happened?"

Running, she was nearly to the elevator when he spoke again. "I killed him." His words were very quiet.

"Henry?" she asked again, a shiver of fear crawling up her spine.

"It's Clark Walker," he whispered.

She swallowed. Hard. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, I'm fine," he answered automatically, though he sounded as far from fine as she'd ever heard. "Abe is fine as well. He's talking to the 911 dispatcher."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," she promised. "Sit tight."

In the end, it took her eleven minutes and fifteen seconds. Looking back, she would never remember the drive. She figured it was the stress - it had been a long time since she had been so worried about someone else's safety. Henry, as capable as he was at most things, was not exactly great at defending himself.

Hansen still beat her there.

"Hey," he said, holding up the ubiquitous yellow tape for her to cross under. "Abe's asked me where you were about forty three times in the five minutes I've been here."

Automatically, she scanned the crowd that was already gathering, attracted by the flashing lights and police presence. "What happened?"

"I talked to Henry very briefly," he said. "According to him, Walker was waiting when he got home. Walker attacks him, and they fight to the death. Literally. Henry managed to get a hold of one of his lab tools and stabbed the guy."

"Jesus," she whispered, horrified.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Going by what we know of Walker, I'd say Henry's story sounds pretty damn believable."

She thought of the trail of bodies that had led them here. Pretty damn believable indeed. "How's he doing?" she asked.

"Henry?" Hansen shrugged. "He's pretty spooked, I think. Very shaken up."

She looked towards the shop instinctively, but Henry was nowhere in sight. "I think I'm going to go find him."

When she pushed the glass door open, she immediately spotted Abe, talking rapidly to a uniformed officer. When he saw her, he stepped back, gesturing her over.

"You're here," he said.

"Are you okay?" she demanded. It seemed to be the phrase she was destined to repeat constantly tonight.

"Yeah, great," he said dismissively. "Look, you need to go talk to Henry."

She stared.

"He trusts you," Abe went on. "And he'll believe what you tell him. Right now, you need to tell him that there was no other course of action for him to take. It sounds better coming from you, anyway."

"Of course there was nothing else he could have done," she said, startled.

"I know that," he told her. "I was there. But I'm not sure if Henry knows. He's upstairs," he added, pointing.

Frowning, she started towards the stairwell.

"Jo?" Abe's voice called after her, and she turned back. "Even if he forgets to tell you this, Henry's grateful you're here. Trust me."

Lost in thought and trepidation, the sudden silence of the stairs was jarring. She was left alone with just her footsteps.

The apartment above the shop was dark. She had only been here once before, and they had mostly been outside once. Squinting into the dimness that passed for night in New York City, she waiting for her eyes to adjust.

"Jo." Henry's voice was very soft, but she could tell it was still wrong. He was standing at the window, not looking at her.

"Hey," she whispered, crossing to stand at his side. "How're you holding up?"

"Much better than the man downstairs," he answered dully.

Carefully, she put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, but she didn't move away. "Henry," she said softly. "He was here to kill you. Surely you know that. There was nothing else you could have done."

He turned, just enough to face her, and what she saw in his eyes was fascinating. They were bright, dark. Tortured. "Wasn't there?" he hissed, and she felt the tremor run through him, saw the muscles in his jaw clench convulsively.

Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He hesitated for just a second, then locked his fingers at the small of her back. His body was almost unbearably tense and she wondered if she had made a mistake, touching him like this. But then she felt him trembling, and she decided this had been the right thing to do.

"It was you or him," she whispered. "And, just between the two of us, I like you better."

He shifted, head bowed, nose next to her neck. She heard him take several deep breaths, felt his fingers digging into her. "You smell good," he murmured. She wasn't sure he knew he'd even said it.

Softly, she traced an abstract pattern down his back, feeling the easy play of muscle as he breathed, and he responded by leaning into her further.

It suddenly struck her that Henry Morgan, the mysterious, self-contained Henry Morgan, was in her arms.

Deep within her wounded heart, something warm and new sprang up, bubbled to the surface. It was breathtaking, life affirming. Although she had felt like she was a ghost for so long, _she was not dead_. She could still feel.

Henry moved again, gently pressing his temple to hers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, committing this to memory, all the while wondering what was going through his mind.

With a sigh, he stepped away after another minute. "Thank you," he whispered.

She managed to summon a smile. "If you're ready," she said, afraid to break the spell they were both under, "we should go back downstairs. I'm sure Hansen has questions."

He nodded. "I'm ready." With just a touch of flourish, he gestured for her to precede him down the stairs. "Ladies first," he said.

The light was bright, and she squinted for a second as she stepped back onto the floor of the antiques shop.

She slipped back into professional mode instantly. However, in one unguarded instant, she caught herself watching Henry, remembering what it was like to be close to him. Silently, she thanked God that this nightmare with his stalker was over now, and she fervently hoped life would go back to normal.

Well, as normal as things could get for a widow in her early 30s whose partner was the most... (attractive, distracting, intelligent) _interesting_ man she had ever met. And had just killed someone.

She turned back to the case then, determined to wrap this up as soon as they could.

They all deserved a little peace for a while.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

He had never deliberately killed anyone in his life. Indeed, he had been a doctor for the vast, vast majority of his existence, helping those that could not help themselves. Oh, there had been accidents, and in earlier times, occasional misdiagnoses, that had led to death unexpectedly.

However, he had never once stabbed someone with a medical implement in order to purposely cause death.

Even if he had fully expected the man on the receiving end of the blow to only stay dead for a little while.

It didn't matter now.

He had murdered - absolutely _murdered_ - an innocent man.

While the real killer was out gallivanting on the streets. Adam. What an ostentatious name, fashioned by a man whose ego could scarcely be contained by one fairly unimpressive body.

All of this contempt for Adam was masking the horror he was feeling. In fact, he was a bit surprised he hadn't been physically ill.

Jo kept close to his side for the rest of the night, and he was grateful for that, even if he knew he shouldn't be.

He was getting in too deep with her. Oh, he wasn't naive enough to think he was in love or anything of that sort. But he _did_ care about her, did bear her some genuine and true affection. He was honest enough to admit to himself that it wasn't entirely platonic. It was just...she was so utterly lovely and so utterly unaware of it.

And it was dangerous to care about people, especially observant people like Jo, who had clearly noticed there was something off about him.

It hadn't stopped her from running to him tonight.

Hadn't stopped her from comforting him. Certainly hadn't stopped _him_ from letting her, from taking a moment to simply breathe her in.

It had felt...nice. Peaceful. She was warm, soft in all the right places, even if he knew she could kick his ass with very few problems. In fact, it made him a little more inclined to lean on her, to let her carry some of the burdens he was fettered with, if only for a second.

Clinically, he wondered if he had been in shock. Perhaps not. He knew what that felt like, and never once had it caused him to fight with the urge to have a blind, emotional meltdown.

Then again, he'd never done what he had tonight before.

Abe was watching him closely, clearly concerned about his mental state. That made two of them. He glanced up, met Jo's worried eyes, and amended his earlier statement. _Three_ of them.

It was two in the morning before the police and the crime scene technicians left. Abe had gone to bed an hour or so before, at his urging. No need for both of them to be zombies in the morning.

"Care for a drink before you go?" he asked Jo, seeing her glance around in search of her coat. "I'm certainly going to have one. My nerves are shot, in case you hadn't figured that out."

Her lips turned up a touch, and he was sure she was remembering what had passed between them earlier. He was equally sure that she would never bring it up. "Sure," she told him.

They sat in companionable silence while the liquor burned pleasantly in his veins.

"Busy day," he remarked once, smiling just a little.

"No kidding," she replied. "I could do with some time off." She stretched her legs out in front of her.

"Crime never sleeps," he quipped. "Of course, that means the police don't either." He took another drink, hoping to prolong the numbness that was beginning to ebb away. His head wasn't going to be a pleasant place to be when that happened.

Jo sat her empty glass on the antique sideboard next to the restored sofa they were sitting on. "I'm going to take off," she told him. "Otherwise all the coffee in the world won't save me tomorrow. Um, later this morning, I mean." She blinked rapidly, trying to focus, then stood.

He did as well, helping her into her coat, walking her to the door. In the shadowy light, she looked very tired, and he impulsively pulled her coat collar up against her chin.

"Goodnight, Detective," he said quietly, hoping she knew he meant it the most affectionate way possible.

"'Night, Henry," she returned. "Let's try to have some uneventful hours, okay?"

He chuckled as she left, then busied himself putting their glasses in the sink.

Walking up the stairs, he felt every one of his 200 odd years. He flopped gracelessly onto his bed after pausing to check on Abe. Some habits never left, and the urge to make sure one's child is sleeping soundly is one of them.

He slept without dreaming, still in the clothes he'd been wearing for almost twenty four hours.

By all rights, he should have been out until noon. But he knew by the quality of light that it was early morning when he woke.

Two hours later, he was sitting at the police station, having promised Hansen he'd come in and give full statement. He had also come armed with breakfast and gourmet coffee for his ersatz partner.

His justification was that _someone_ needed to take care of her, and she certainly didn't seem able to handle the position herself.

_Most important meal of the day_, he wrote on a post-it note, sticking it to the plastic container that held her food and leaving it on her desk. She'd recognize his handwriting, he was sure.

She was waiting for him when he exited the interview room, fingers wrapped around her cup of coffee. She looked tired still, hair pulled back, but she smiled warmly. "Thanks for breakfast," she said.

"You're very welcome," he told her.

Her phone buzzed. He didn't bother to pretend he was doing anything other than listening to her conversation.

"Another case?" he asked as she shoved the device back in her pocket.

"Yup," she said on a sigh. "In addition to never sleeping, crime also never takes days off."

She grabbed her coat.

"Mind if I come?"

Jo blinked. "I don't think it's going to be a particularly interesting case," she said slowly. "Looks like a standard robbery gone wrong."

He smiled wryly. "I could use a regular, boring homicide," he confessed.

She grinned back at him after a second. "In that case, let's go."

As she drove, he felt his shoulders relax a bit more. There was so much uncertainty in his life right now, so much that had the potential to go very, very wrong.

But today...today would be a good day.

"I was thinking that perhaps I could consider getting a cell phone," he said, apropos of nothing. "For emergencies, which we seem to be having a great deal of."

Jo laughed out loud.

Yes. Today would be a good day indeed.


End file.
